


Blind Duckling

by coffeeandfeathers



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Attempted Sexual Assault, Fluff, Foggy is extremely protective, Foggy nelson unsung superhero of the daredevil universe, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Matt has a dark past ok, Sexual Assault, brief mention of noncon, mention of vomiting, post-trauma cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-06-02
Packaged: 2018-04-02 11:54:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4059046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeandfeathers/pseuds/coffeeandfeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Foggy Nelson, the human equivalent of a cinnamon bun, who’d never thrown a punch in his life, who mowed peoples’ grass for free every summer, who wanted to be a lawyer so he could help people, went absolutely apeshit.</p><p>Or: Foggy loses Matt at a party and the events that follow.<br/>TW for attempted sexual assault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blind Duckling

Foggy wasn’t exactly sure how he’d ended up sitting on the kitchen counter of some frat house with Marci holding a bottle of vodka to his lips, a lemon wedge clutched between her perfect teeth, but he did remember walking there with Matt and running into her and then losing sight of his roommate a half hour ago. Should he be worried? Matt was probably off talking to some luscious coed he had no dream of seeing and Foggy didn’t exactly want to tear him away from his first lay of the semester.

            “C’mon, Foggy, this is sour!” Marci said around the lemon, her voice barely audible over the din of the party. The whole house was hot and wet from too many bodies, pushed and pressed against the walls. It moved with them, immersed in a deafening roar of chatter and pulsing music. _Matt must be so confused_ , Foggy thought, kissing the lemon out of Marci’s mouth to cool the vodka burning his throat. He’d only had a couple beers before Marci found him and two chaste body shots after that, but the smell of the house and the noise was making him feel way drunker than he was.

            “Now you do me!” Marci said, popping a slice of lime into his mouth and grabbing a second bottle from the counter. “Is there any salt over there?”

            Foggy groped around for a second before producing a pepper shaker. “Probably,” he said, reaching behind him to find the matching salt.

            “You’ve got that look on your face,” Marci said, unscrewing the top of her mini bottle of tequila.

            “I’ve got a lime in my mouth,” Foggy tried to say, nearly swallowing it in surprise when she licked his neck and sprinkled salt on his wet skin. Marci downed her shot and licked him again before gently retrieving the lime from his mouth with her teeth.

            “What look?” Foggy said once his mouth was free.

            “You know what look,” Marci said, puckering her lips at the taste of the lime.

            “No, I don’t. I’m drunk, I don’t know what my face looks like.”

            “That ‘I don’t know where Matt is and I must search for him like a concerned duck mother’ look.”

            “I do not have a look like that.”

            “You absolutely completely do,” Marci said. “You make it every time you’re waiting for him after class. I’ve seen you do it.”

            “Oh yeah?”

            “I’ll take a picture next time you do it. You look like this.” Marci bunched up her eyebrows and scanned the crowd, her mouth folded into a little pout. “Where is Matt? Where is my blind duckling?”

            “Shut up. It’s just loud in here. I don’t want him to get lost.”

            “He’s a grown man. He can take care of himself at a party.”

            “He didn’t want to come, you know. He just didn’t want me to walk out here by myself. You know this isn’t his scene.”

            “Well that’s very sweet of him but you know he wouldn’t want you fretting over him. He probably hates that.”

            “Yeah… I guess so. I’m just wondering why I haven’t seen him. It’s not like this is a massive house.”

            “Relax. He’s probably off getting laid somewhere upstairs.”

            Foggy hopped off the counter. “I’m gonna look for him.”

            “And leave me all alone with this bottle of tequila?” Marci lifted the bottle and pouted again.

            “It’ll take me like five seconds, Marci.”

            “Fine.”

            It was much quieter upstairs, though the floor still reverberated under his feet while Foggy climbed the stairs. The landing was dark, as were most of the rooms, and Foggy padded softly over the carpet to avoid disturbing anyone else who was getting lucky.

            “Matt?” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the music. “Matt, you up here getting laid?”

            A sudden shushing sound coming from one of the rooms caught his interest, even though the shush was too quiet to be directed to him, and against his better judgment, Foggy crept over to the cracked door and peaked in.

            “Shhhh.” This was coming from one of the guys who owned the house. He was speaking to someone just out of view in the darkened room, his silhouette tall and massive. “He doesn’t need to hear you and he’s not going to hear you.”

            _That doesn’t seem right._ Foggy pressed his eye closer, trying to make out the other person in the room. The second silhouette was much smaller and seemed to have trouble remaining upright. It kept swaying back and forth, illuminated by the moonlight streaming through an open window in the bedroom.

            “Please, don’t.” This voice was small too, slurring even the two simple words, and Foggy recognized it immediately.

            _Oh HELL no._

            When they’d first become roommates, Foggy did everything he could to make accommodations for Matt. He kept his clothes off the floor, read articles on how to be a sighted guide and even spoke to Disability Services about their frankly shoddy collection of Braille texts when Matt wore himself down to a nub looking for a specific book for a research paper. “Spoke” wasn’t exactly the right word, “got into a shouting match” was probably more accurate, but Foggy was concerned about his friend and he wanted him to have the same opportunities as everyone else, scholastic ableism be damned. But there were difficulties in Matt’s life that Foggy learned about much later, after he’d gained Matt’s trust and slowly opened him up. One of these hangups was touch.

            Matt had good and bad days just like everyone else, but his bad days seemed to render him stressed and terrified instead of mildly irritated and Foggy wanted to know why. He’d found Matt hunched over on his bed with his textbook in his lap, his fingers moving a mile a minute, and when he touched Matt’s shoulder, his friend _flinched_ as if Foggy had struck him.

            “Hey, it’s me,” Foggy said, knitting his eyebrows in concern. “You okay? Did I scare you?”

            “I’m fine.” But the color had drained from Matt’s face and Foggy resolved not to touch him without express permission in the future. Matt’s neuroses extended not only to being touched himself, but touching other people. After what felt like the hundredth time Matt asked if Foggy would please guide him across the street and was it okay if he took Foggy’s arm, Foggy mustered up the courage to retort.

            “You don’t have to ask me every time, you know. I’m happy to do it.”

            Matt’s eyes widened behind his glasses. “I, uh. I know.”

            “Then why do you ask?”

            Matt shrugged, told him not to worry about it, but Foggy persisted. A few weeks later, after they’d gotten nice and lubricated on two six packs of beer and a pizza, he asked again.

            “Matty?”

            “Hm?” Matt was sprawled on his back across the futon, drinking water in an attempt to quiet the hiccups he always got when he drank too much.

            “Why do you always ask before you touch me? I don’t just mean crossing the street. I mean like…” He didn’t want to bring up the chaste kisses Matt planted on his lips sometimes when they got drunk or the way he tucked himself against Foggy’s chest when they went to sleep at night. Those things seemed almost too holy to talk about and though they’d been doing it for months, Matt still asked “May I kiss you?” and “Can I sleep here?” every time.

            “You mean like when we kiss?” Matt said around his hiccups, turning his head so Foggy could see his eyes.

            “Yeah.”

            Matt sighed and looked back up at the ceiling. “I just think consent is important.”

            “Well I mean yeah, of course, but it’s me. You know I want it.”

            “You can never be too sure.”

            “But can’t you?”

            Matt’s mouth twisted. “It’s just… I know how it feels to be in situations where touch isn’t exactly consensual, okay? And it sucks. And I don’t want you to feel that way. End of discussion.”

            “Wait, what? You… someone did that to you?”

            “End. Of. Discussion.”

            Foggy was dying to ask more, but Matt sounded like he was choking on his words and he figured it would be best just to drop it. Knowing what horrible things had happened to his sweet, devout roommate would probably turn him into a green rage monster and he didn’t want Matt to see him like that. Not until he needed to. And now he needed to.

“Matt?!” Foggy almost tore the door off its hinges in his haste to get into the room, groping for a light switch before the guy could stop him.

            “What the…” Foggy started, his eyes sweeping the room. The frat guy was standing with his bare back to the door, his bulky shoulders blocking most of Matt’s body from view. Matt was pressed up against the far wall, his glasses lying discarded on the floor next to his cane, his brown eyes waving back and forth around the room. His face was a sick mixture of white and grey, his lips bloodless. A half-empty bottle of Jack and two dirty shot glasses lay a few feet away on the carpet.

            “Foggy?” Matt slurred, turning his head towards the sound of Foggy’s voice only to have it forced back into place by the jock’s hand holding his chin. The other hand was gripping Matt’s waist, pressing him against the wall with his pelvis.

            “Walk away, Nelson.” The frat guy said, his eyes boring straight into Foggy’s brain. “Turn off the light, close the door, and walk away.”

            Foggy Nelson, the human equivalent of a cinnamon bun, who’d never thrown a punch in his life, who mowed peoples’ grass for free every summer, who wanted to be a lawyer so he could help people, went absolutely apeshit.

            “Who the FUCK!” The frat dude easily had fifty pounds of muscle on him, but Foggy tore him off of Matt like he was made of wet tissue paper. “DO YOU THINK.” Foggy had him on the floor in an instant, the guy’s arms scrabbling against the carpet for something to grab. He made for the bottle of Jack and Foggy grabbed his wrist and twisted his arm before he could get to it. The jock shrieked in pain as Foggy dug a knee into his hyperextended shoulder. “YOU ARE.”

            “What the fuck Nelson, Jesus,” the guy said, his voice pinched in pain, and Foggy just twisted his arm farther until he screamed again. Foggy raised his free hand and balled it into a fist.

            “What the fuck do you think you’re doing taking advantage of some innocent blind guy who’s too drunk to fight back is this how you get your rocks off? Raping people?!” The words flooded out, spurred on by vodka and pure vitriol and Foggy threw the first punch of his life. Then the second. Then the third. Then he lost count because the guy swung with his free hand and caught Foggy right in the jaw.

            _Shit, cartoons weren’t lying about seeing stars._ Foggy blinked, tasting blood, and the jock took the momentary pause to try and squirm out from under him, yelping when he jarred his shoulder. Foggy pinned the frat boy’s shoulders against the carpet with his knees at the sound, freeing up his other fist for maximum beat down potential, and punctuated every word with a blow.

            “You like this, huh? You like being pinned down somewhere you don’t wanna be with someone hurting you? You’re lucky I don’t beat every tooth out of your rapist skull!” His knuckles ached, every hit reverberating through his bones, until a small voice came from the wall behind him.

            “Foggy?”

            Foggy stopped and looked over his shoulder. Matt, pressed up against the wall to keep himself standing, was looking straight at him with an expression of pure shock. All of a sudden, beating up the near-unconscious jock wasn’t the most important thing he had to do in that room.

            “Yeah, buddy?” Foggy slowly got to his feet and stepped over the bleeding, cowering man on the floor to get to Matt.

            “Did you just…” Matt pitched forward and Foggy caught him, holding his friend’s slender body upright.

            “It’s okay, Matt. I’ve got you,” Foggy said, and Matt buried his face in Foggy’s shoulder.

            “He kept feeding me shots,” he slurred, his voice muffled. “I dunno how many. I’m sorry.”

            Foggy’s stomach clenched. “You have nothing to apologize for. It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

            “Thank you.” Matt’s arms tightened around Foggy’s waist and Foggy had to take a step back to keep them both standing. “I was… trying to call your name but nothing came out.”

            Foggy suddenly imagined Matt pressed up against that wall, mouthing his name, and swallowed the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry, buddy. I should have kept better track of you. I know you didn’t want to be here.”

            “No… it’s my fault,” Matt said, and Foggy just pulled him in closer.

            “It’s not. Let’s get out of here, okay?”

            Matt nodded into his shoulder and Foggy placed him gently on the floor before retrieving his glasses, cane and jacket from the floor.

            “Think you can walk down the stairs?” Foggy asked, and Matt considered it for a moment before shaking his head.

            “I don’t… no. I can’t stand up.”

            “Okay, that’s fine. I’ll just piggyback you.”

            Matt tilted his head, his blank eyes staring at the opposite wall. “Piggyback?”

            “You know, like kids. C’mon, up you go.” He pulled one of Matt’s arms over his shoulders and hoisted him to his feet. “Put your arms around my neck but don’t choke me.”

            Matt obeyed and Foggy crouched down. “Now just jump on me.”

            Matt undershot a little and Foggy had to hoist him onto his back, pulling his legs up to elbow height. “You good, buddy?” He felt Matt nod against his shoulder, his face buried in Foggy’s neck.

            “You want me to hold on to your stuff?” Another nod.

            “Okay. Just hang on. Let me get you downstairs and then I’ll grab my coat and we’ll catch a bus back to the dorms. Does that sound like a plan?”

            “Yep.” Matt’s breath smelled like whiskey and Foggy’s guts clenched again. He walked past the bleeding jock, who’d only just then seemed to realize what had happened and was babbling about assault, and made for the stairs.

            Carrying Matt turned out to be even easier than he’d hoped, even though he was very nearly deadweight. Foggy toed down the stairs, taking them one at a time, and scanned the party for Marci. She’d moved to an empty couch in the foyer and looked up when Foggy called her name.

            “There you are! I heard someone yell upstairs and was this close to going up there.” She held her fingers a centimeter apart. “Why are you carrying Matt?”

            “He’s too drunk to stand. We’re leaving.”

            “Why? Oh my god!” She’d seen his red, wet knuckles. “Is that blood?”

            “It’s not mine.”

            “Your mouth is bleeding. Christ, were you the one screaming?”

            “No.” Foggy tightened his jaw, swallowing copper. “I need to grab my coat. Can I leave him here for a second?”

            “Of course.” Marci reached up and Foggy dropped Matt in her lap before stalking past the rest of the partygoers, some of whom looked shocked at the sight of his bloody knuckles. He found his coat, yanked it on as if it has done him some great personal wrong, and returned to the couch.

            “What happened?” Marci asked. She was helping Matt into his coat, his head lolling on her shoulder. “I’ve never seen him this drunk before. And what did you do to your hands?”

            “I’ll tell you tomorrow. We need to get out of here now.”

            “NELSON.” A shriek came from the landing, the owner of the voice standing at the top of the stairs, his face a mess of blood. Luckily, the couch was out of his line of sight for that moment as he scanned the party

            “Shit!” Foggy threw an arm around Matt’s waist and pulled him to his feet. “Okay, c’mon buddy. Let’s go.”

            “I’m coming with you,” Marci said, grabbing Matt’s other arm. “Sounds like you’re going to need a little help.”

            “Thanks.” Marci hauled Matt onto Foggy’s back and the three of them made for the door before the jock could thunder down the stairs.

            Foggy was not a natural sprinter and the added weight of Matt on his back slowed him down considerably, but he swore they’d broken the sound barrier in the time it took them to jog from the frat house to the bus stop. Marci hobbled after him, heels clutched in one hand, her bare feet slapping against the pavement

            “Jesus,” she said, flopping down onto the bench under the awning once she’d caught up. “You’re fast.”

            “I work out.” He set Matt gently onto the bench next to her before realizing she was only wearing her dress, a sleeveless number that ended several inches above the knee.

            “Did you not wear a coat?”

            “I left it there. I’ll ask Abbey to bring it by tomorrow.” She drew her knees up to her chest and Foggy took off his jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

            “You’ll freeze,” she said, looking up at him. He shrugged.

            “I’m fat, I think I’ll survive. Besides, you’re the one who just ran barefoot in the middle of March.”

            “Well I appreciate the courtesy.” Marci bundled herself into his jacket, which was several sizes too big for her, and pulled the hood up. “It’s warmed up and everything. Tell me what happened.”

            Foggy sighed, sat down on the bench. “You’re not going to like it.”

            Her blue eyes peeked out from under the hood, her nose resting on her knees. “Tell me.”

            After he’d relayed the story, Marci’s blonde brows had furrowed into a pair of neatly manicured caterpillars and her teeth were bared in a snarl of disgust that extended to her wrinkled nose.

            “I cannot believe that. What was the guy’s name again?”

            “Uh, Joe? John? I don’t know him. I recognized him from other parties but I have no idea.”

            “You should get Matt to press charges. At least talk to the committee of student ethics or something.”

            “Noo…” this came from Matt, who up until this point had been silent, his head resting on Foggy’s shoulder. “No… no committee.”

            “And why not?” Marci snapped. Matt just closed his eyes, fiddling with the glasses Foggy had left in his lap.

            “Don’t wanna cause trouble. No one’s gonna… believe me.”

            “Foggy’s a witness. I can vouch for you!” Marci started, but Foggy held up a hand.

            “Okay, okay. We’ll talk about this later. He’s not really in a position to argue.”

            As if on cue, Matt sat bolt upright and pressed both hands to his mouth, squeezing his eyes closed.

            “Matt, are you…?” Foggy reached for him, but Matt had already left the bench and wobbled into the grass outside the stop, falling onto all fours before retching.

            “Hey, hey,” Foggy went after him, kneeling next to him in the wet grass. “It’s okay, you’re okay.”

            Matt just gagged, bringing up what felt like battery acid until he couldn’t anymore, his lungs frantically contracting around each heave. Foggy’s hands were warm and colored brown with dried blood against his back and chest, holding him upright when the lurches of pain finally stopped.

            “It’s okay, buddy, I’ve got you,” Foggy said, and Matt swallowed experimentally before raising the back of his sleeve to wipe his mouth and streaming eyes. “You’re okay.”

            “I’m sorry.” Matt swallowed again, curling up against Foggy’s chest away from the mess. “I couldn’t…” he trailed off, burying his face in Foggy’s collar.

            “It’s okay, Matt. Better to get that stuff out of you now.” Foggy scooped him up as if he were a tiny child and carried him bridal style back to the bench, where Marci was peering over at them with wide eyes.

            “Christ,” she said, scooting over so they could sit down. “You weren’t kidding about that guy feeding him shots.”

            Matt moaned in response, crossing both arms over his stomach and curling up against Foggy’s shoulder.

            “The bus’ll be here soon, Matt, and then we’ll get you back home, okay?” Foggy’s voice was low and soothing, his fingers working their way gently through Matt’s cold, sweaty hair. He shivered and moved closer while Marci retrieved his fallen glasses.

            “You’re an excellent babysitter,” she said, handing the glasses to Foggy who put them in the pocket of his hoodie. “You should sell your services.”

            “I don’t think people want me coming to their parties and beating the shit out of the hosts.”

            “Some people might.”

            Foggy shrugged, picking at the blood under his fingernails. “Maybe.”

            “You don’t think that guy’s gonna come after us, will he?” Marci asked, and Foggy shook his head.

            “Not now. He was shitfaced when I saw him and there are like a dozen bus stops between here and the dorms. He’ll be looking all night if he really wants to.”

            “And what about tomorrow?”

            “I’ll deal with that when it comes around, okay? And I’ll say it was self-defense. If he wants to press charges, I’ll take him down for sexual assault.”

            “Shit, you’re not fucking around, are you?”

            “Nope.”

            They sat in silence for a moment or so until the bus arrived, trailing exhaust. Marci and Foggy each took one of Matt’s arms and wrapped them around their respective shoulders, half dragging him up the stairs and into a seat in the back of the empty bus. Foggy flashed his student ID before climbing into the seat next to Matt and the driver closed the doors and began the drive back to campus.

            “God, it’s late,” Marci said, staring out the window at the streetlights. “Good thing tomorrow’s Saturday, huh?”

            “Yeah. Plenty of time to sleep in.”

            “You think you’re gonna need more help with Matt or can I get off at my apartment?”

            “You can go home. I think I can handle one skinny drunk guy.”

            Marci rubbed Matt’s shoulder and he let out a little groan, his face buried in Foggy’s shoulder. “You sure? Do you have water and advil and stuff?”

            “Yep. He gets migraines and stuff so we’re pretty stocked. I’m just gonna try and get him to bed so he can sleep this off.”

            Matt mumbled something, but his voice was muffled.

            “Yeah, buddy?” Foggy asked.

            Matt lifted his face, his blank eyes gazing at Foggy’s mouth. “I feel like shit.”

            “No kidding.” Foggy smiled bitterly and Marci’s hand moved to Matt’s back, rubbing up and down in slow strokes over his jacket. Her apartment complex loomed into view and she paused for a moment to kiss Foggy goodbye before inching past their legs and into the aisle.

            “Do you need your jacket back?”

            “Keep it. I’ll come by tomorrow to pick it up. Thanks for your help.”

            “Let me know if you need any help with legal stuff. That guy shouldn’t get away with this.”

            Foggy’s chest tightened. “He won’t.”

            Marci nodded and waved goodbye to the bus as it drove away. Once she was out of sight, Matt leaned the side of his head against the cold bus window and closed his eyes, his face a delicate shade of grey.

            “You okay, buddy?” Foggy asked.

            “Mmm.”

            “I’m gonna take that as a no.”

            Matt hiccupped and for a second Foggy was afraid he’d get sick again, but Matt just groaned and shifted so his head moved from the window to Foggy’s shoulder.

            “Foggy?”

            “Yeah, buddy?”

            “Did you… do you have my stuff?”

            “Yep.” Foggy took Matt’s glasses out of his pocket and placed them in his lap. “I’ve got your cane over here too.”

            “Thanks. I would’ve grabbed it myself but…” he groaned again and put a hand to his stomach, rubbing slow circles over his shirt.

            “You gonna puke again?”

            “No… just hurts.”

            “Wait until we get home, okay?”

            “Okay.” Matt was quiet for a moment before… “Foggy?”

            “Yeah?”

            “Did you kill that guy?”

            Foggy’s guts went cold. “No, of course not. I just roughed him up a little.”

            “He was mad. I heard him yelling.”

            “Well, I was mad too.”

            “Did he hurt you?”

            “Not too bad. Just got me in the jaw here.” Foggy took Matt’s hand and placed it on his slowly swelling face. Matt’s fingers traced the bruise and the cut on his lip, running his thumb over Foggy’s chin and mouth.

            “That feels like it hurts.”

            “It stings a little but don’t worry about it. I’ve got some Neosporin back home.”

            “He hurt me too.”

            Foggy gritted his teeth even as his jaw creaked painfully. “I know.”

            “No, I mean…” Matt sat up with some difficulty and pushed back his shirt until his left side was visible. A fat red mark was turning purple on his bony hip, and five accompanying welts indicated where the jock’s fingers had left bruises from holding Matt against the wall. Foggy felt suddenly as if he desperately needed to scream.

            “He did that to you?” he asked, trying to keep the vitriol from his voice. Matt nodded as he let his shirt drop and resumed fiddling with his glasses.

            “So he could keep me against the wall. I should have been able to take him but I wasn’t feeling so good. I should’ve done something, I should’ve screamed or…”

            “No.” Matt looked up in surprise at the sharpness of Foggy’s voice. “He should not have done that to you. None of this is your fault.”

            “But…”

            “No, Matty.” Foggy slipped his arm around Matt’s shoulders and pulled him in close. “This is not your fault.”

            Matt fell silent and stayed silent until the bus arrived at their dorm. Foggy went to help him up, but Matt wobbled to his feet and leaned on his cane for support.

            “It’s okay, I can walk,” he said, and Foggy caught his glasses before they fell from his lap to the floor, too tired and angry to argue.

            “Can you hold this?” Matt sounded like he was choking down bile once they’d arrived back in their room, and Foggy took the cane before Matt stumbled into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him. Almost immediately, there came the sound of retching and Foggy winced as he stepped out of his shoes and set Matt’s cane and glasses next to his bed.

            “You need any help in there, buddy?”

            “Noooo,” Matt groaned before gagging again. Foggy washed the brown blood from his hands in the sink outside the bathroom and examined his face in the mirror. His cheek was swollen and purplish and his lip hurt like the devil, but he imagined that the other guy’s face must look much worse. He wasn’t looking forward to those ramifications.

            “Fogggggggyyy.” Matt drew out his name like a sob and Foggy went to the bathroom door.

            “Yeah?”

            “I can’t get up.”

            Foggy opened the door to find Matt curled up on the cold tile, his eyes puffy from vomiting. “You want some help now?”

            Matt reached for him and Foggy scooped his friend up for the third time that evening and carried him to his bed. Matt must have weighed less than a buck forty; carrying him was like carrying a child. Or maybe Foggy was just stronger than he remembered.

            Matt swayed unsteadily once Foggy put him down and for a second Foggy was afraid he’d pass out sitting up. “You want some water?” he asked in the hope of keeping him awake a little longer. Matt nodded and gulped half the bottle at once when Foggy gave it to him.

            “Hey, hey, slow down. Give your stomach a minute to settle.” Foggy sat down next to him and Matt just hiccupped.

            “I feel like shit. Can we go to bed?”

            “Sure, buddy.” He helped Matt out of his coat and shoes before changing out of his own dirty clothes and slipping into a clean t-shirt. Like _hell_ was he trying to get Matt into pajamas after what he’d just been through. Better to let him sleep in his button up and jeans than threaten more of his bodily autonomy. Matt didn’t seem to mind, anyway. He’d curled up under the covers and buried his face in his pillow as soon as Foggy had left him, leaving only a shock of dark red hair visible over the sheets.

            “You okay, Matt?”

            Matt just mumbled.

            “I’m going to leave another bottle of water here and some Gatorade next to your bed if you need it. Wake me up if you need something.”

            Matt mumbled again, clearly on the brink of sleep, and Foggy sighed before going back to the bathroom mirror and attending to his fat lip. When he returned to his bed, Matt was breathing quietly and evenly in his own and didn’t stir when Foggy turned off the light and crashed into sleep.

            He wasn’t entirely sure what woke him. It could have been the click of the bathroom light or Matt’s feet against the thin carpet or the creak of his mattress when Matt sat down. All he knew is that he awoke to a warm body tucked under his arm and a noticeably smaller bed.

            “Matty?” He snuffled. Matt’s presence shifted, moved closer to Foggy’s chest.

            “What’s up? You sick again?”

            “No,” came Matt’s reply. “Cold.”

            “You want me to turn the heat up?”

            “No.” Matt pressed his nose against Foggy’s neck. “Can I stay here? My bed’s too big.”

            Foggy’s chest warmed. “Yeah, of course.”

            “Thank you. Thank you for protecting me.” Had Matt not been stumbling drunk, he probably wouldn’t have said those words, but Foggy’s heart felt like it grew three sizes anyway.

            “You’re welcome.” He felt Matt smile on his neck, smelling of whiskey and dirt and toothpaste, and pulled him in close, listening to his heart beat softly as he drifted back into sleep.


End file.
